


760 Days

by facade



Series: The Shards of Us [4]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Casual Sex, Destructive Behaviour, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infidelity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Polygamous Relationship, Multiple Sexual Encounters, PTSD, Possessive Behaviour, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Promiscuity, Strong Language, Subjugation, Subjugation Schema, Suicide Attempt Referenced, sexually explicit content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 15:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2697860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>...because you can't time jump two years in a story line and expect your readers to understand your logic in writing the ending.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> <strong><em>(This work is not a part of a series of independent fictions. Break Me: ASL Part 1½)</em></strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knowing Is Not Synonymous of Understanding

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Break Me: ASL](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1845781) by [facade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade). 



> You will **not** understand this you haven't read the ASL.

Cristiano glanced around his house for the first time in what felt like weeks, noting how cold it felt, how empty it seemed to be. It had felt like weeks but his memory served him well, reminded him that only several days had passed since he had drunkenly stumbled through that front door with Sergio in his shadow. His stomach churned as he remembered, discontent bleeding from and pouring out of his soul. Days - not weeks, but days. Only days ago he was lying within the warmth of his very own comforter falling to the touch of the man who had killed his past self, touching him, kissing him - forgiving him. His past self only days - a week, two - gone. Mere days had passed since he'd found himself in the midst of a tug-a-war with two of his closest friends creating the opposing forces, since he'd found his right arm with one and his left arm with the other, himself still and caught between. It had only been a couple of days since he had first whispered his secrets into Xabi’s ear, days since he's decided to step out of the war between the two to focus on the one he seemed to be waging within himself. As much as he hated this house - how it served as one large digital picture frame playing his memories on some kind of distorted loop, how it was filled with nothing but those mental holograms and seemingly unbearably cold air, how the only sounds greeting him as he walked through the doorway were the echoes of his own footsteps - and as much as he wanted to fall into bed at night cradled by a warm body - soothed to sleep by the steady rhythm of a heart beating (possibly for him - he knew that he needed this empty space more. He had already admitted to himself that a couple of days was too soon for all of this, too soon to be meddling in this ‘love’ mess as he was still dealing with his own 'hate' mess. His fear of this very place, of everything that this house contained, but more so his fear of what it didn’t hold, and his abhorrence of loneliness proved testament to his growing realizations; his fears were making the days with Iker and Sergio feel like years, were stultifying the true reckless nature of his recent decision making processes. He could turn around and find peace in the arms of any one of the men outside but, no. He needed this emptiness. He needed time.  


The winger drew in a large breath of the cold, uninviting air and dropped the first of his boxes against the hard wood flooring, shuddering as the loud –thud – echoed off of the bare walls of his home. It’s not that the house was literally empty (not even close as Iker had packed sparsely for him while he had still been recovering in the hospital) but his minimalist décor had suddenly made him feel as if he could’ve walked into anyone’s home; nothing outside of his initials on the doors suggested that he had even lived here, nothing screamed ‘Cristiano’ as one walked through the door and he found himself wondering where he was in here. The Portuguese forward released his held breath as he felt a warm hand cover and squeeze his shoulder in a reassuring manner.

“Cris, are you okay," and he was concerned as he had every reason to be. "If it’s still too soon for you to be here we can, we can always take your stuff back to Iker’s. I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Right Casillas?” Sergio smiled warmly at the back of Cristiano’s head and started to run his thumb soothingly over the older man’s shoulder blade, waiting patiently for some kind of response. He stayed there, hand on the other's shoulder for more than a moment, mesmerized until he felt Iker struggling at the other end of the box and he all too suddenly remembered his end of said box. A few curse laced apologies and the extremely heavy, awkwardly large box was under their control once more and within the grasp of both of his hands, at least for the time being. A few more moments passed and he hadn't known why he'd been bothered with the box to begin with; if Cris didn’t remove himself from the doorway sometime soon, the box would soon come colliding down on both his and Iker's toes and, as much as he'd rather that not happen, he wasn't about to pressure Cris into doing more than he could handle. He could've at least reduced the number of affected toes... He became distracted and couldn't suppress his chuckles as he heard Iker draw in a sharp breath of air, shaking his head in playful mockery of the keeper. 

Iker could see Cristiano nodding his head to answer Sergio’s question from over the box (barely) and he could even hear Cristiano assuring the Sevillan that he’d be fine here by himself. While he found all of that to be lovely and truly music to his ears, his arms were already starting to give out as they were convulsing beneath all of the weight and strain of the heaviness of the box (he didn’t want to be melodramatic but he could’ve sworn he felt one of his arms popping out of its socket). “Guys, while we’re all standing around, I think I’d like to make a confession.” Iker forced out, drawing the attention of the other two men back onto himself. “I mean, I work out, you guys know that. I go to the gym and all of that but I don’t, I don’t even lift. There, I said it!”  


Cristiano chuckled as he stepped to the side of the doorway, apologizing to Sergio and Iker as they hurriedly made their way into the house, dropping the box as soon as they cleared the foyer. The winger chewed on his bottom lip as he studied the two men before him, both bent over in slight fatigue mumbling about the contents of that box, and eventually released his lower lip from between his teeth to form a small smile – he had plenty of time.

* * *

 

Xabi arrived about ten minutes later to help Cristiano start unpacking while Iker and Sergio worked on unloading their cars, though the presence of the Basque was more for moral support than anything as his foot was bound by a cast. In truth, he had just spoken with Steven and the Englishman had told him about the conversation he had had with Cristiano; Xabi had sent him to simply check in on the lad and to make sure he and Sergio were doing okay and then Steven just spilled his guts about everything apparently. Xabi fiddled with a few of the things in one of the boxes of miscellaneous things on the bed and released an audible exhale to let Cristiano know that he was about to speak. “So, you spoke with Steven, huh?”

Cristiano chuckled a bit just before he turned away from his closet where he had been hanging up some of his button ups and gave Xabi a playful smile, one that unsettled the Basque man enough to make him shift uncomfortably in his seat on the bed. “Yeah, I did. We talked a little bit about, oh, I don’t know – you...” Cristiano raised his brow and widened his eyes as he formed an “O” shape with his mouth. “…and him. Together.” Cristiano quickly looked over his shoulder, checking the hallway for any sign of the other two Spaniards and walked over towards his bed at no sign of them. He playfully slapped the pensive Xabi on the shoulder as he placed himself just beside the Basque midfielder and laid down on his back, legs spilling over the side of the bed from the knees down. “I feel like I don’t even know you anymore, Xabi.” Cris laughed as the Spaniard shook his head in spirited annoyance before he lowered his voice. “All this time you had a whole other life you were keeping under wraps… So what’s your side of that tragic love story? Come on, do tell.”

Xabi sighed and placed his forehead against the palm of one of his hands as he rested his elbow on one of his knees. He whispered as he had never talked extensively to anyone about Steven before and he didn’t want Sergio and Iker catching anything of what he was about to say. “I don’t know if I’d label it as a ‘tragic love story’ but… In retrospect, it did end in a pretty catastrophic manner given that the whole disintegration started over something so petty.” The Spaniard sighed and glanced out the door and then back at the rising and falling chest of the Portuguese winger. “Why, what did he tell you?”

The winger chuckled in a playful yet patronizing manner as the question reached his ears. “You sound like a little school girl, Xabi. How sweet!” Cristiano turned to find the crimson cheeks of the Basque man and a small smile of embarrassment gracing the older man’s features. Unable to contain his amusement, Cristiano reached over and teasingly poked the other man in the side, just below the ribs, and giggled. “You look like one, too, man. Do, you really want to know what he told me about you? He said that you were beautiful and smart and that you have a fucking wonderful personality…” Cristiano’s voice was sarcastic and he had laced it with a bit of a childish tone and was rewarded with a punch to the shoulder. “No but seriously, he told me that he had been in love with you ever since he had first met you and he said some beautiful shit about you completing him, I guess. Now, back to my question. What’s your side to all of that – you and Steven? Shit still sounds weird coming out of my mouth.”

Xabi drew in a large breath of air, waiting for Iker and Sergio’s laughter to become more distant before he spoke again. “Honestly, when we first met, for me it was like meeting anyone for the first time. I never thought that he was, you know, he was dating Alex. I forget where we were but after one of our games he came up to me and started talking to me... My English,” Xabi laughed out as began recalling the details of that day, “my English was so fucking terrible at the time so I could only figure out a few of the words but his body language…? That was something I could easily understand. I remember looking around to see if any of our other teammates caught on to it but they had already gone. It progressed slowly from there and… You know what? It doesn’t matter how it started, anyway. It’s over now Cristiano.”

“Is it? You don’t seem so sure and, to be honest, neither did he?” Cristiano raised his eyebrows towards Xabi who redirected his attention onto the ceiling whilst succumbing to the pull of gravity, allowing himself to fall back on to the soft mattress the bed. “He said you guys were imperfectly perfect for one another. Isn’t that just the sweetest?” Cristiano’s voice was back to sarcasm again but his heart still felt warm as he watched Xabi’s features change and mold to the new information.

Xabi narrowed his gaze a bit and found himself smiling at the memories of them: the fights over the shower temperatures, the laughs shared after a good game and the tears shed together after a bad one. “We were, weren’t we…?”

“What the hell, you guys?” Sergio shouted from the doorway as he awkwardly carried a box into the room. “Iker and I are out there slaving away and you two are in here lounging around gossiping like a bunch of school girls? Seriously, guys, that’s not…”

“I feel so used.” Iker interrupted as he brought in two smaller boxes and placed them onto the floor of the bedroom. “I think I’m injured, too. Move over, Xabi, I need to… Oh, that’s nice.” Iker sighed out as he laid down next to the Basque man. “Cristiano, is this why you’re keeping both Sergio and I around? Two people to cater to you? You are a smart man, Cris. So fucking smart.” Iker breathed out the words as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, sinking into the comfort of the bed until the discomfort of his arm pulled him back into reality. “On a serious note, I think I may have pulled my arm out of its socket.”

Sergio eyed the keeper for a moment, deciding to check on the keeper’s shoulder as he noticed the clear signs of discontent in his brow, and chuckled. “We’re going to have to amputate…” he joked, receiving a light kick to the shin in response. “Your arm is fine, Iker. I think you’re just getting old and weak.” He grunted as his remarks were met with yet another, harder kick into the shin and giggled to himself while he walked back over to the box he’d just brought in to start unpacking it. “Denial isn’t going to make you age in reverse, old man. Can somebody help me put all of this…? Hey! I didn’t know you kept a journal, Cristiano. How adorable.” Sergio teased as he pulled the book out of the box, while inattentively thumbing through the pages before the book was pried from his hands by Cristiano.

“Oh, wow. So it was your actual journal that Iker had read? I thought he had discovered some document on your laptop not an actual book.” Xabi thought aloud as he sat up in the bed and eyed the book Cristiano was now placing carefully within the drawer of one of his nightstands. “It seems slightly archaic, to write in a book, but it’s definitely an interesting concept.”

“Oh yeah, you know about that.” Iker yawned sleepily as he rubbed at his lids, his body threatening to part with his mind in sleep. “I forgot that you…”

“Know everything.” Xabi finished for Iker as he made direct eye contact with Sergio, burning his gaze into the soul of the Sevillan. “Well, everything there is to know here.”

Sergio shuddered as his eyes met those of the Basque and he felt himself uncomfortably shifting all of his weight off of one foot and onto the other. So, Xabi knew but why hadn’t Cristiano told him that Xabi knew, that Xabi knew everything about what had transpired between them? No matter, Cristiano wasn’t obliged to tell him everything nor anything, for that matter… but that Xabi had known yet hadn’t said anything to him nor to Iker as of yet…? The Sevillan rubbed nervously at the back of his neck and glanced around the room, trying to figure out why Xabi hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. Before he could draw any more attention onto himself (any attention outside of Xabi’s) he hurriedly reached down into the box, blindly pulling something out while asking “Where do these go?”

Xabi eyed the box in the defender’s hand and answered his question with a simple “on your penis”, smiling at his own witticism as his words colored the cheeks of the young Sevillan with a deep, crimson red. “Though, I did see a Vine recently that had a younger man stretching one of those out over his head – the one above his shoulders – while reading the directions. To each his own, I guess, but you would typically put it over your penis.”

Sergio bit his lip in embarrassment as he glared down at the box of condoms while sarcastically thanking the midfielder for his assistance. “Why thank you for that, Xabi. I don’t know how I’ve gone my whole life without knowing that.” Sergio laughed at himself just before tossing the box into the open drawer of Cristiano’s nightstand.

Iker chuckled at the antics of the other Spaniard’s and tiredly removed himself from the bed to help Cristiano and Sergio unpack for a few minutes before announcing that he was finished for the day. “Sorry guys, but I have to head back home and pack my crap. Unlike you guys, I’m expected to be at a game tomorrow.” He raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes, throwing the other three men a look, as he put a picture of Cristiano and his mother back on the surface of one of the nightstands.

The other two Spaniards gave Iker friendly hugs and shouted their goodbyes as he left the room with Cristiano following him out stride for stride. As the sounds of the additional footsteps echoing off of the walls of the house reached his ears, Iker slowed his step and allowed the Portuguese man to catch up with him but saved his words for when they were truly alone. He had a lot on his mind: since their last phone conversation and the one before that, since Cristiano had told him he was moving out, since Cristiano had asked for ‘time for [himself]’. He needed to know where they stood and what Cristiano expected of him in the time that he was taking for himself. So, as soon as he reached his car, he spun on his heels and pulled Cristiano in for a deep, searing kiss as he feared it may have been his last chance, just in case the next words out of Cristiano’s mouth declared some sense of finality to ‘them’ until he figured everything out.

Cristiano returned the kiss, lips lapping over lips, tongue dancing with tongue, and felt himself swallowing down this confusing sense of guilt that seemed to be building up from within his stomach. He couldn’t explain it and, fortunately for him, the tongue of the older man didn’t really give him much of an opportunity to think about it further. After a few moments of the passionate interchange, after a few moments of hands curiously exploring muscles and the ridges that defined them, the two men decided to stop while they were ahead. People could be watching, Fabio in particular, and they didn’t want to end up having sex on the front lawn, though the idea… “Iker, look... I just… This isn’t about me not wanting to be with you and this isn’t about not wanting to be with Sergio. Okay? I just need some time to get my head right, you know?”

Iker nodded but tightened his grip around Cristiano’s waist. “I know Cristiano and I agree. You need time to yourself, no one can deny you that, and you do need to get back into your routine… I’m just worried that there may not be a place for me there. That things will go back to us being teammates and nothing more, acting as if this thing between us never even happened. Take all of the time you need, I just need to know what to do with myself in the meantime, I need to know where I fit into your plan if I fit anywhere at all.  Where Sergio fits into all of this. I mean, typically when a person says that they need time to themselves, they’re calling it off, ending it. Is that what’s going on here or…?”

“No, Iker. That’s not what I’m doing at all. The only thing I want to end is this back and forth; Sergio pulling while you’re pulling, me falling one way, depending solely on how I feel within the hour, and then falling the other way simply because I can… It’s just not fair. Not to you. Not to Sergio. I can’t drag you two through this with me, I can never discover what I need from anyone when I’m trapped in my head, like this. My mind isn’t right enough to know what’s right for me, you know? What am I talking about, of course, you know. I just don’t think I’m ready to run into a relationship with anyone outside of myself. It takes a lot of commitment and I…”

“Need to be committed to yourself for a little while. I get that, Cristiano.” Iker sighed out as he looked down at his feet, losing himself to his thoughts for a moment. He didn’t want to let Cristiano go – not now, not ever – but he knew that Cristiano needed this. “Just try not to forget about me, okay? I mean, if you need anything and I mean _anything_ ,” Iker laughed out as he gave Cristiano a suggestive wink, “you should definitely call me first.” He leaned forward and gave Cristiano another small kiss before releasing him from his grasp to climb into his car. “I love you, Cristiano.” Iker had said it without thinking, voice just above a whisper and more to himself than anyone... He had closed his door before Cristiano even had the chance to respond, subconsciously refusing to hear it returned unless the other man knew for sure that he had meant it.

Cristiano sighed and waved insecurely as Iker pulled out of the driveway and stood there watching until the other man’s taillights had disappeared from view.

* * *

Sergio tried to busy himself in an attempt to keep himself from making eye contact with the Basque midfielder who seemed to be studying him as he would an attacking midfielder. He had quickly emptied out the box he had been working on and had started on another, smaller box before his nerves forced him to finally break the silence. “So, you know _everything_ , huh?”

Xabi nodded, eyes still trained on Sergio who was simply staring down at the contents of the box before him. “Almost everything. There are some things that I may know but that certainly doesn’t mean that I understand them. I know what love is but I don’t quite understand it – who does, really? I know what women are and some of things they do but I have accepted that I will never understand them – never. I know about what you did but I don’t understand why you did it. I know that Cristiano’s forgiven you though I don’t understand why. I know that you left Fernando in England, Steven and I talk,” he added carelessly, “and I have no idea of what suddenly compelled you to do so because I know, and thought I understood, why you had brought Cristiano to London in the first place. There’s a lot of things I know, Sergio, but there’s a hell of a lot more that I don’t quite understand. I’m not one to talk though… I let the person I truly love get away and I don’t think I’ll ever understand why I never put up the fight.” Xabi smiled to himself as a few of his memories with Steven danced across his mind, playing their laughs and tuneless singing sessions like a timeless record. “So, you should definitely help me understand what happened in London, then.”

Sergio shook his head but walked up to the bed anyway and took a seat next to the older Spaniard. “I don’t even understand what happened in London. It’s true that I went there with Cris to get Fernando jealous, it was childish, I know… but, I don’t know what happened. Things changed and I couldn’t, I couldn’t... I told Cristiano everything, the original reason why we had come there but he, he pretty much shot it all down immediately and called it all bullshit. I tried to make him believe me, believe what I thought to be the truth, but then I called bullshit with him… And then, when I went to talk to Fernando, it was different. Fuck, like I said, I don’t even understand it.”

“Don’t worry,” Xabi chuckled out, “no one does but Cris seems to be trying to.” He glanced up at the ceiling as he finished his sentence and thought about putting something up there, a poster of himself perhaps, just to get under Cristiano’s skin. Who wouldn’t love falling asleep staring at his mug? “Does Cristiano have a ladder, Sergio?” He looked back down at Sergio who was staring back at him with a questioning look about him and a small frown playing on his lips. “I think I’ll take that as an ‘I don’t know’.”

Before Sergio could ask Xabi about what he had meant about Cris trying to understand – what, that was the question – Cristiano made his way back into the room and threw himself onto the bed just beside the other two men, complaining about having stubbed his toe in the foyer. The Sevillan found himself back within Xabi’s sights and at the receiving end of a dismissal, reading ‘give him space’ as the words inaudibly escaped the Basque man’s lips. He nodded, acknowledging the request, and stood up from the bed to leave, using the jet lag he had acquired from the London flight as an excuse.

Cristiano waved from where he was lying face down on the bed, muffled giggles escaping from his lips as Sergio threw himself on top of him to plant a wet kiss on his neck. He continued lying like that until he heard the sound of his front door clicking to a close, until he heard the roaring of the Porsche’s engine starting, and until he heard the tires pressing against the gravel outside. He sighed a bit to himself before he remembered that Xabi was still there. “So, when are you going to fly back into that cesspool to get your true love back, Romeo?”

Xabi laughed boisterously and went to slap Cristiano on the back as the insult reached his ears. “Liverpool is no cesspool, Cristiano. It’s… and fuck you, Cris. It’s too late for me.”

Cristiano groaned as he turned himself right side up and glared over at the midfielder who was staring down at the floor pensively. “You used to be the only non-idiotic person I knew and now you’ve just shattered that whole image. ‘Too late’? It’s too late when you stop giving a damn about the man, Xabi, and you still do. It’s too late when he’s forgotten you and, trust me, he still remembers you quite fondly, my good man. Too late? Slap yourself, Xabi, and never say anything dumb like that again. Please, I need you to be… You know, you.”

Xabi grinned and shook his head in self-reprimand. “You’re right, Cristiano. Sorry about that.”

“You better be.” Cristiano replied as he grinned up at the red bearded man. “You know, I don’t understand you two?”

“I don’t understand a lot of things,” Xabi whispered just loud enough for the forward to hear, “but that’s what makes a lot about life so beautiful, huh?”

 


	2. Liverpool Xabi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is (obviously) being rewritten, this is as far as the previously published chapters go. I've tweaked this chapter in a great way to accommodate to some of Cristiano's issues.

Toni had called him as soon as he had gotten home from the game, inviting both himself and Olalla over for dinner. Given the nature of Olalla’s pregnancy, both had been inclined to turn down the offer but Toni had been insistent and they didn’t want her to think that they had a problem with her or, for Olalla’s sake, worse. So here he was, groaning in front of the Terri’s home and praying to the god he occasionally believed in that he’d be able to behave properly if only for Olalla and Toni’s sake. He hadn’t even spoken with John since he had found out about their infidelity and, honestly, he didn’t feel as if he had the room to talk – except when he thought about John aborting a baby that could potentially be his. He felt a tug on his sleeve and spared Olalla a sympathetic glance before he opened up his car door and made his way around to hers; he could be a chivalrous sinner when he wanted to be. He checked the back seat before remembering that they had decided to leave Leo and Nora at home with the sitters, just in case.

Olalla squeezed her husband’s bicep as soon as she attained sure footing and gave him a gracious smile. “We’re going to get through this, okay. Both of us. I know things didn’t go as you would’ve liked with Sergio but what did you expect, Nando? At least all he asked of you was time… I’m asking you to deceive people for fuck’s sake.” She chuckled nervously and fidgeted with her dress before looking up to meet her husband’s confused gaze.

“If I recall properly,” Fernando responded as he placed his hand gingerly over his wife’s stomach, “I volunteered. Besides, who have we to deceive? This baby is mine and yours. Period.”

“Oh there you two are! Come in, come in! Oh, I feel like it’s been so long!” Toni exclaimed as soon as she stepped outside of her home, immediately running towards Olalla with outstretched arms. “I told John that I was a little worried about you two showing up but here you are! Silly me! Oh, come in, come in!” Toni entwined her arm around Olalla’s while informing Fernando of John’s whereabouts so they could get in a little ‘girl talk’ before dinner. “I saw him take you out during the game; I’m sorry about that. I just don’t know where that man’s head is these days.”

Fernando smiled at Toni, though the memory of him being tackled to the earth by his own teammate was enough to make him explode on its own. “We all make mistakes. No one is immune to them.” He heard Toni laugh and smiled at her back until they turned a corner ahead, his smile disappearing as soon as he found himself alone in the large home. He groaned as he took in as much of his extravagant surroundings as he could before he felt eyes on him, burning through his skull; he expected those eyes but he was hoping he’d get lost in their owner’s mansion before he was found by them. “I’m assuming you want to talk, John?” Fernando raised his eyebrows and turned his body towards the defender who he found leaning up against one of the walls, casually sipping on a beer.

John sighed before retreating into his kitchen to pull another beer out of the fridge, knowing all too well that Fernando probably needed a drink more than he did. Toni had all but begged him to allow her to invite over the Torres’ to discuss baby shower details; she was obsessed: constantly talking about cake flavors, gender neutral colors, old wives tales... She had gone on to the point that if he had told her ‘no’ then she would have surely assumed the worst; as he didn’t have a good track record with the wives of his teammates and their pregnancies, it wasn’t as farfetched as one might initially think for Toni to figure out that he had something to do with Olalla’s pregnancy. So, here he was entertaining the teammate he had betrayed while his wife discussed details of a baby shower for his child with another woman. Karma: it was screwing him in the oddest of ways. “You want to talk in the game room? I have FIFA?” He still couldn’t look Fernando in the eye so he had directed his gaze at Fernando’s shoes – they were nice shoes – while posing his question; he didn’t even wait for an answer as he headed off down the hallway, sighing as he rounded the room’s corner and found his recliner.

Fernando followed him in, taking in all of the family’s picture’s that adorned the walls of the corridor leading up to the game room, and felt a wave of anger overcoming him as he found a picture of Summer and Georgie smiling on the wall. It hurt knowing what John had supported to keep another little smile from gracing the walls of another family, what he was willing to do to keep the smile within Olalla’s stomach from adorning the walls of the Torres home, all in the name of keeping his tarnished name in as much tact as he could. He subconsciously took the photo down and cradled it in his arms before going into the room he had seen John disappear into. “Beautiful kids,” he stated a matter-of-factly, holding up the picture for John to see.

John knew that those words were more than a mere observation as Fernando had seen and even played his kids a great many times. “They are beautiful… They take after their mother.” He traced the rim of his beer with his finger and stared back at Fernando’s shoes – they were nice shoes. “So about…?”

“No, I think your son looks a lot like you.” Fernando muttered while staring intently at the photo in front of him. “It’s like you put your face in a mold and – boom.” The Spaniard slowly pulled his eyes away from the photograph and looked at the top of John’s head. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the door was still hanging open and decided that this was a ‘behind closed doors’ type of conversation. As it clicked to a close, he found himself asking the question that had been bugging him since he had first heard of John’s indiscretion’s with Wayne Bridge’s wife. “Do you ever think about what that baby would have looked like?” He saw John tap nervously against the side of his beer bottle and could even see him shifting nervously in his seat.

“Almost every time I close my eyes or look into those of my kids. Despite what you may think, I do have a conscious.” John’s voice was breaking but he had never talked about it with anyone before; he had to talk about it with Fernando because it was like the situation with Wayne reincarnated. He had often thought about that baby, more so now that Olalla was pregnant... “I couldn’t lose my kids though, Fernando. I couldn’t lose my wife. I can’t, I can’t possibly survive without them.”

“Oh sure, that makes perfect sense.” Fernando’s voice was dry and could easily be interpreted as sarcastic. “You don’t want to lose two of your kids so you kill one. Simple math, really.” He released a breathy laugh and shook his head in disbelief. (And he was the asshole?)

“Look, Fernando!” John found his feet and, as soon as he was upright, Fernando’s eyes. He only looked into them for a second before he fixed his attention on the wall behind him, the intensity within those orbs was more than he could take. “I get it. I fucked up and I was about to do it again; I’m not making heartless decisions but I can’t, I can’t handle all of the…”

Fernando interrupted the Englishman with a hearty chuckle. “You can’t, you can’t…” Fernando had laughed himself to tears and could barely form a sentence. Pity wasn’t something he was willing to offer his club captain but his fist seemed like a good alternative within the moment. He had doubled over in a fit of giggles, wiped away his tears, and had regained his composure before he was ready to finish his sentence. “If you can’t handle the consequences of your actions then maybe you should have kept it in your pants.” (Fuck, I’m a hypocrite…) Fernando shook his head and reprimanded himself, his thought instantly calming him. “Look, I have no right to talk about fidelity but you can’t just kill a baby because the child happens to inconvenience you. Especially not when that child is growing within my wife and could very well be mine.”

John looked back at him quizzically and shook his head as he tried to understand what Fernando had just told him. “What do you mean?”

The freckled Spaniard sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck before he finally opened his beer. He needed a drink right now and the bitter taste of beer would offer a quicker escape from the reality of his problems: Olalla, John, Sergio… “We went to the doctor a bit ago and they told her that she was further along than they had initially thought.” He gulped down another sizable portion of his beer, choosing to leave out that there might be a problem with the baby. “I just… Let’s just play FIFA. “

* * *

> _“Loneliness - the clearest of crystal insight into your own soul, it’s the fear of one’s own self that haunts the lonely.” - Keith Haynie_

He cried extremely hard that first night and, for the first time in weeks, his tears weren’t caught by the warm fingertips of another and his sighs weren’t interrupted by someone pounding on the door, nor was there the comfort of a warm arm wrapped around him to pull him out of the coldness of his thoughts. No there was nothing there to divert his attention from those unrelenting self-judgments, no one there to distract him from himself. His sniffles filled the room, unheard by no soul outside of his own, as an empty feeling took up residency in his chest and he could do nothing outside of reveling in it. No, there wasn’t a single compassionate ear listening nor was there a single word of reassurance uttered. He had pounded Iker’s number into his phone multiple times but he had quickly erased the entries just before tossing his phone on the top of one of his dressers after the last time; the older man would surely come over and, if he found him in this state of mind, Cristiano was sure Iker would simply pack up his things again before whisking him away. As much as he wanted that to happen, he knew that he needed to be here dealing with himself more, regardless of how much it hurt to do so.

Cristiano sighed as he fell back onto his comforter for the first time since Xabi had left over two hours ago. He had thought about holding the Basque man as a prisoner to avoid this – silence – but he knew before he had even tried that he’d be fighting a battle that he had already lost before it had even started. Xabi had made it a point to emphasize how proud he was of him for doing this, though Cristiano got the feeling Xabi had merely vocalized his pleasure in the name of tactics, to add little bit of pressure to keep Cristiano on track along with a dash of guilt should Cristiano start to backpedal. The forward rubbed at the back of his eyelids and sighed in exhaustion, his memories and desires still consuming the most of his thoughts and depriving him of sleep each second they lingered – some bittersweet, some painful, all confusing, all consuming. He opened his eyes and immediately scowled as he caught site of the ceiling. He had known Xabi was up to something; he had gone in for a quick shower before they had settled in for their takeout (Nagore had been a little too happy to have gotten rid of Xabi for dinner) and some PES when he had heard a clattering in his bedroom. Xabi had told him that he had dropped something. Xabi had lied. (I need to stop trusting these Spaniards so much), Cristiano thought as he scrunched up his face and childishly stuck his tongue out at the Xabi on his ceiling. (Where the fuck did he even get that poster from _?)_ His curiosity got the better of him and he found himself back on his feet shooting Xabi a text asking how the hell he got himself onto his ceiling and sighed helplessly, placing his hands on his hips as he glared at his old foe, Liverpool Xabi posed in mid strike.

After only a few seconds his phone started generating the buzzing noise he had been waiting on, only when he glanced down at the screen he realized he was getting a call from the Basque midfielder rather than a simple text. He chuckled to himself as he pressed the green ‘answer’ section of the screen and spoke, immediately demanding that the midfield pivot demand himself. “Xabi, I don’t want to go to sleep staring at your Liverpool self.”

“Yet, you admit you’d love falling asleep with me as the last thing you see, as long as it’s the Real Madrid me?” Xabi bit his tongue as a huge grin encompassed his face. He had flown out of bed as soon as he had gotten the text because he had known exactly who it would be coming from. “I wasn’t going to do it but I figured it’d remind you that I’m the only one you’re supposed to be sleeping with, the two dimensional version of me for clarification purposes.”

Cristiano could hear the laughter in the other man’s voice and, as much as he wanted to reach through the phone and choke him, he couldn’t keep the smile off of his own face. “Xabi, alone time doesn’t mean abstinence and sexual deprivation it means... Well, it doesn’t mean I’m damning myself back to my hand.” (Okay, that sounded a lot sluttier than I wanted it to.) Xabi was laughing again, this time a little bit harder and to the point that Cristiano could hear him dismissing himself from the presence of his wife; even if Xabi was laughing at him, Cristiano was grateful to have someone to talk to. "Hell, I'm going to have a difficult time getting it up either way with your face looking back at me like that."

“You mean you're going to have a difficult time keeping your hand off your shit with me looking back at you, man whore,” Xabi chuckled through the phone as soon as he had gotten outside and reached his deck, “I never said don’t have sex with them, I said don’t sleep with them – as in literal sleep. If I meant fuck, I’d say fuck but I didn’t.” He blew his breath into the frosty Spanish air and smiled as the steam rose, it had always been something that had amused him since childhood. “Spending the night is more of a commitment thing and you don’t want to get back into that whole fucking… You know what, I don’t even know what it is?” Xabi looked up at the clear night sky for a little bit in thought before recovering himself, thrusting himself back into reality. “It’s a fucking hexagon, holy shit.” He smiled, pleased with himself as he recalled hearing something about John Terry and Olalla. “Yep, you want to stay out of that buddy so no sleepovers.”

The Portuguese man counted through the people on his hand and frowned as he had only come up with four of them, perhaps five. Deciding that Xabi probably knew something that he didn’t, he deemed it best to get back to the subject at hand. “I promise not to spend the night with anyone other than two dimensional Liverpool Xabi.” Cristiano breathed back into the phone with a monotone. “Why did it have to be a Liverpool you, though?”

That, that was the question Xabi had been waiting for. “Well, given that I was at Liverpool while you were at Manchester and given that it’s dated to the same year that you lifted that damned Golden Ball, I figured it’d motivate you to get back to the better days, the days when you were able to compete against that gorgeous man you’re probably staring at.”

The winger looked away blushing as if he had been caught staring red handed. “Maybe I should put one above your bed of me then, Xabi. You can’t even compete with Liverpool you anymore,” Cristiano joked, “you’re so frail now.” He heard Xabi choking on a laugh and decided to push the other man further, “And maybe then Nagore wouldn’t have to fake her orgasms.” Cristiano didn’t hear from Xabi for almost a whole minute but by the time the Basque’s voice reemerged on the other end of the line he was gasping for air.

“You little fuck.” Xabi laughed out as he darted inside. He was shaking his head in amused disbelief, wondering why he hadn’t beaten Cristiano to that, and jingled his keys in front of the mouth piece of his phone as soon as he found them. “I’m going to kick your ass now. Be there in a few.”

* * *

Sergio slammed his head into his pillow for probably the thirtieth time that night and groaned as his eyes simply would not close. He had been abusing his pillow with his head for the past hour yet sleep still kept evading him despite his solid case for a plausible concussion. He had every reason to be tired: the intense game, the torturous flight, all of the emotional shit… Every reason to be exhausted yet none outweighed the effect Cristiano was still having on his mind, their memories seeming to shoot through his veins like caffeine.

The Sevillan sat up in his bed and tiredly rubbed at his eyes, glancing over at his own nightstand. He smiled as he remembered Cristiano’s journal and got out of bed to grab and empty book off of his bookshelf. After one of the games he had been sent off in, his mother had given it to him for him to take out his frustration in. “ _You are out of control out there_ ,” she had told him, “ _Maybe if you vent a bit in here it won’t be so bad out there, baby_.” Of course, he had told her that he was a man and didn’t keep diaries, hence it’s currently empty pages, but now it seemed like it would be the perfect remedy.

 _I won’t write much_ , he told himself as he pulled the book off of his shelf and made his way back to his room:

> _A lot of things are changing, I am changing. I am not the man I was last year, last month, last week… I can hardly recognize myself but I know, I know it’s for the better. I just wonder if you have grown as I have, if you have grown in the same ways or if our branches would now hinder one another. Not so long ago, you were all I needed: like air, like water, like food I needed you. Looking back, now I am not so sure. Looking at things, I don’t know if I truly needed you, or if it was simply you needing me to need you, you convincing me that I would be nothing to anyone that wasn’t you. It’s strange, Fer, as much as things change there’s always been a constant – he’s always been a constant for me. My feelings for him may have faded but I feel, I feel them now as if they had never diminished. I see him now and everything seems so simple, everything seems so conquerable. Why couldn’t I feel that way with you? With you, I was always striving to be something more than I am, with him… With him, I simply am. I don’t deserve him though, Fer. I’ve hurt him so much and he deserves to be treated in the way only Iker seems to know how to treat him but I tried… I tried to push him away but he refused to go, refused to listen. Maybe I should just stay away but… Moth. Flame. Moth. Flame. He’s my flame, I suppose. Or maybe I’m his._

* * *

Cristiano had thought Xabi was kidding when he had threatened to come over but the sound of his doorbell bouncing off of his walls had informed him that he was wrong. He found himself childishly peeking out of the window, earning a middle finger from the Basque, before he opened the door and immediately found himself choking in what seemed to be a death lock of sorts.

“What do you know about Nagore’s orgasms?” Xabi chuckled as he attempted to still the writhing Portuguese man. In truth, he wasn’t there about Nagore’s orgasms but Cristiano didn’t need to know all of that right away – he had his pride to uphold first. “Have you been peeping in on us pervert? Like what you see, puta?”

“Oh, so you do have problems!” Cristiano choked out, mentally slapping himself for responding as he currently had a limited air supply. Xabi released him as soon as the winger had transformed from a cherry red to a plum with a word of warning and was making his way to the kitchen by the time Cristiano returned to his usual bronzed color. “You actually came all the way over here to choke me out? Holy shit.”

Xabi reemerged from the kitchen with a protein bar in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. “You know, you need to invest in something called junk food… Just a thought, it’d probably make your guests a little bit happier about coming over.” Xabi sighed out as he hobbled into Cristiano’s bedroom and threw himself onto the other man’s bed, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding as he stared at himself on the ceiling. “Your house makes me feel like a teenager again, you know that, Cris?”

Cristiano yawned and rubbed at his bare abdomen before eventually deciding that it would probably be better for conversational purposes if he were in the same room as the defensive midfielder. “Oh yeah, why is that?” He asked as he caught Xabi laying back in his bed admiring his former Liverpool self. “…because I have posters of oh-so-dreamy men on my ceiling?” Cristiano chuckled out as he shot Liverpool Xabi an icy glare.

The Spaniard chuckled as he shook his head ‘no’ and patted the area of the bed beside him. He spoke as he felt the mattress sinking in under the weight of Cristiano (nice try, Tempur-Pedic) laying down next to him. “I couldn’t sleep and I was getting on Nagore’s nerves; she kicked me out of the room after I started laughing on the phone and I figured you couldn’t sleep either.”

“So, are we going to watch some chick flicks and talk about our menstrual cycles?” Cristiano sighed out with a light chuckle. “Because, I’ve got to tell you I’ve been cramping and have been eating nonstop. Tell me, Xabi, do I look fat?”

Xabi laughed boisterously and glanced over at Cristiano, regretting the action immediately. Cristiano had been wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants that hung loosely just above his hips, the legs of the pants had been purposefully pushed up to his calves and Xabi had never seen the other man so relaxed. The ‘I’ve tried to go to sleep but failed’ look seemed to work on Cristiano and the small smile that had formed on his face from his own smug retort just did something with his features that Xabi had never seen before. The man had always been an eye catching specimen but… The Basque shook his head and looked back up to his two dimensional self, thankful it wasn’t a frontal profile or he was sure he’d be condemning himself, well aware that he was just as vulnerable as Cristiano was within that moment – he hadn’t been able to sleep as his thoughts had been overwhelmed by the memories he and Steven had made with one another. “How did Steven look when you saw him?”

Cristiano yawned and rubbed his hand over his chest, trying to decide whether or not he should torture the Basque. “I guess talking about ex-boyfriends is girly enough.” He chuckled as he tried to look at the ceiling without looking at fucking Liverpool Xabi – (Liverpool Xabi). He damned himself. “He looked great, had a huge smile on his face. I mean, he seemed to miss you, like I said, but I think he’s coping kind of well.” Bullshit, bullshit, and more bullshit but hey – Xabi was on his ceiling. “You know, I cannot wait to be as happy as he is.” Cristiano looked over at the man beside him and could see the drop in his features: the quivering lip, the mournful eyes, and – (fuck me, he’s crying). “I was just messing with you, Xabi. Well, kind of. They had just won their game but he regrets his decision – I told you that. A man with regrets is not a happy one.”

Xabi bit his lip in frustration and held raised his brows warningly while keeping his focus on himself. His smile was more of frustration than amusement and he knew he was probably going to try strangling Cristiano again. He expected to find his hands around the other man’s throat as he straddled him and he expected for Cristiano to protest but he didn’t expect to find Cristiano’s breath with his own, his lips with his own, his tongue with his own. It lasted longer than it should have, and Xabi was sure he had enjoyed it more than he should have, but it had ended before they had gone too far. Xabi had apologized, Cristiano had excused him, and vice versa. It was merely a moment of weakness, a moment of comfort, but a moment that told Xabi exactly what he needed to hear without a single word uttered.

“So where did you get that poster from, anyway?” Cristiano mumbled out, finally breaking the stretch of silence that had formed between them. “Do you just carry around a case of those in your car and randomly plaster them in people’s houses? And people call me conceited. This, this is a whole other level of self-promotion, I’ve got to tell you.” Cristiano chuckled as he reached over and playfully slapped the Basque man on the chest.

Xabi had been staring up at the ceiling and had glanced over at the Portuguese winger as soon as the other man’s voice had bounced off of the walls of the otherwise soundless room. He hadn’t heard a word of what Cristiano had said, he had been caught up in his own thoughts, but the sound of the forward’s voice assured him that the time the universe had set aside for their moment of awkward silence was now over. “Cris, I’m gay.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Cristiano gave Xabi a quizzical look but couldn’t contain his laughter. “Don’t tell me,” he laughed out as he grabbed at Xabi’s shoulder to keep himself from folding in half, “you’ve been in denial all these years?” Cristiano wiped at his tears and tried to force the last of his laughs out of his system but they seemed to be unending. “What do you mean, ‘Cris, I’m gay’?”

Xabi watched as his friend failed in attempts to regain his composure several times before finally placing his hand against the other man’s chest to still him. “No, Cris. I mean, I’m gay as in I don’t love Nagore and I never have. Not in that way, at least. As in, not bisexual. As in, I shouldn’t even be with Nagore. As in, I should be with Steven.” Xabi snatched his hand off of Cristiano’s chest as soon as he had caught himself subconsciously reaching further down on the younger man – fortunately, Cristiano was still just lying there in a rather clueless state.

“What are you going to do?” Cristiano whispered as he glanced over and met the eyes of his now closest friend. He felt bad for Xabi; here he was bitching about being torn between two gorgeous men while Xabi… Xabi had married a person he wasn’t even attracted to (and that’s not to say that Nagore wasn’t an attractive woman but she wasn’t…) in _that_ way, to him. Deciding that this was a serious moment, Cristiano decided to skip the joke about how the sex must really be awful and, instead, asked Xabi if he was alright.

Xabi simply shook his head and soon found himself drowning in Cristiano’s warmth, wondering how Cristiano had come to comfort him as opposed to the other way around. “Cristiano,” the Spaniard whispered, feeling his hot breath bouncing off of the firm chest of the younger man, “you’re an amazing person, do you know that? I understand why Iker and Sergio are all but tearing you limb from limb in a fight for your affection.” He could feel Cristiano’s abdomen rising and falling, heard the chuckle and the small sigh that came soon after. He lost himself in the familiarity of it all: the feeling of ridges and valleys of lean muscle beneath his fingertips, the musky aroma of a man intoxicating his sense of smell. He didn’t even realize that his fingertips had started playing with the band of Cristiano’s sweats until he felt the breathing of the other man hitch. “Cris, I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize…” he started but stopped as he looked up to find the other man’s eyes seeming to stare just beyond his own. He saw Cristiano shake his head dismissively, felt the palms of his hands over his cheekbones, and felt his soft lips lapping gently over his own. In that time, Xabi was transported back to Liverpool, back to the place where everything seemed to be right in the world, to a time when everything in his life seemed to make sense. The feeling of being dominated in a kiss, the feeling of hands firmly gripping his face in the name of control… but this wasn’t Steven. Xabi hesitantly broke the kiss and looked deep within Cristiano’s eyes, softly smiling at the warmth he found within those brown orbs. It would have been too easy to fall for Cristiano but, he supposed that was the reason why he never slipped; he had a tendency to fall for the odd ones. “Would you mind terribly if I stayed the night here? I just, I don’t think I could face Nagore right now.” His smile deepened as Cristiano nodded and he let his head fall back onto Cristiano’s chest, sighing contentedly as he felt Cristiano's fingers massaging his scalp. “We could build a pretty badass fort if you’re down.”

* * *

 

> Nothing but clear skies hung above him and for once, for once he didn’t have to strain his ears to hear the joyful chirping of the bids and the rustling of the leaves among the trees. He slowly tilted his head back, allowing the sun to kiss his neck as he listened to every note of the birds’ song, drowning in the melody of it: they sang him a song of love, a song of bliss, a song of promise. Simply beautiful, the way their notes entwined within the depths of his soul. The air was crisp and cool, yet somehow had been warm and inviting enough to entice him into leaving the comfort of his home. He took a whiff of the air surrounding him, smiling in satisfaction as he did so: he could smell the damp soil of the earth, the scent of the orange blossoms in bloom nearby, the scent of…
> 
> _(A rose bloomed into this world, as the summer came to an end)_
> 
> The familiar smell caught him off guard and sent his eyelids fluttering open; he checked his surroundings, searching for any sign of him but found himself groaning in disappointment as his search proved empty. Still, the scent taunted him, lured him towards the outskirts of the yard he had found himself in; he cautiously followed the trail, smiling softly as the scent grew stronger and stronger with each step he took - he had to be nearby. As he neared the edge of the property, he found himself frowning in front of one of his rose bushes, glaring at it in disappointment completely unimpressed with what was in front of him. There were nothing but buds awaiting him but, upon closer inspection, he realized that there was one that was already at full bloom, one that had bloomed in spite of the harsh winter.
> 
> _(Tell me, how do you suppose it survived?)_
> 
> He carefully ran his fingers over the delicate petals and found himself smiling in wonder. It was as beautiful as any, this late bloomer, and it had endured one of the harshest winters Spain had ever seen. Perhaps that had made it all the more beautiful - roses, so often regarded as delicate, yet this one showed that there could be a strength at the root of delicacy. Yes, this rose was surely more beautiful than any other preceding it or set to follow its bloom, this rose possessed something within it that others surely did not - the will to endure.
> 
> _(Tell me how it chose to exist in defiance of the cold. Tell me how its beauty would come to last.)_
> 
> He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, for this rose, to bloom against the odds - to survive when everything within its nature was telling it to die. Everything around it had told it that it didn’t belong in an icy, cold world, that it was too fragile, too weak to ever last. Yet here it was, caught within his gaze, a beauty rivalled by nothing. It bloomed in spite of its nature. Why should it have to succumb to the will of nature? _(Is it the fault of the rose to bloom into this changing, frigid world?)_
> 
> His smile grew deeper as he felt the warmth of the sun kissing his cheek and as the scent of the soil resurfaced within his nostrils. Yes, the sun had come out and the cold had moved on, the snow had melted away and had unveiled what had once lied beneath. So many fragments of that which could not withstand the winter: crumbled leaves, rotted twigs, yet this rose clung to its stem still. The rose had bore through the cold of the winter, had defied its odds, and he marvelled at its strength.
> 
> _(It has endured, it has survived, at least to the naked eye.)_
> 
> _(Though still beautiful, though still fragrant, the rose is not the same.)_
> 
> He ran a gentle finger over those soft petals once again before turning his attention to the stem that held them firmly there, wincing as he felt the scourge of a thorn. He felt the texture of the leaves, observed the richest of greens among them, and ran his finger further down to the root of the bush. His smile grew softer before it eventually faded as he studied that which held the source of the rose’s strength.
> 
> _(A cold, bitter world nipped away at those roots,)_
> 
> _(Had hindered those pedals from grasping desperately for the sun)_
> 
> He could feel a weakness between the root and the earth, could see the disturbance of the soil surrounding it. He stared at those roots for a while before he slowly dragged his gaze back up the stem, to the bright red petals of the rose at its end.
> 
> _(No longer rooted, no longer new; worn down by this world)_
> 
> _(It faltered each time the wind rolled over the mountains,)_
> 
> _(Its pedals weakened with each passing storm)_
> 
> It had been easy for him to simply decide at a glance that the rose had won, had survived, had endured. Surely, its very radiance this day had been a testament to it’s strength, to its defiance of what is natural, to its will to survive. A gust of wind combed through his hair and he watched, watched as the wind carried away his winter’s rose, petal by petal by petal, the fragrance, not of an ordinary rose, but of him, left him, was carried far off. He thought long and hard about the fight that very rose had put up to survive, he thought about all that it had endured and still...
> 
> _(A rose bloomed into this cold world and he watched as the world won.)_

Iker quickly shot up out of bed in a cold sweat and glanced over at the clock on the nightstand, groaning to himself as he read it to be 0230. It was still quite early in the morning, late in the evening depending on how one looked at it, but his mind and his thoughts didn’t operate on a time restraint. He needed to talk to Cris, to know that he was okay on his first night alone since… He picked his cell phone up off of the end table and quickly gave the man snoring in the bed beside him a once over before deciding that there was probably nothing in the world that could wake Diego up. He felt his fingers tremble as he punched in the familiar number, far too anxious to search for his name among the list of his contacts, and tapped his fingers impatiently against his knee caps as he listened to the ringing of the other line.

“Hey, you’ve reached Cris. No, scratch that. You’ve reached my voicemail. Leave a message. Or don’t. I’ll call you back either way.”

Iker groaned as the message reached him, sighing as he waited for the beep. “Hey, Cris. It’s Iker. I mean, you know it’s me, caller id but still… I just wanted to check on you. See how you did, I mean, how you are doing on your first night alone after…” _It has endured, it has survived, at least to the naked eye._ Iker shuddered at the thought of the dream and tried to bury it deep, “I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay. Like really okay and not just saying…” _a rose bloomed into this cold world._ “Look, we have a game later on today, much later on. You know that, I know you do, but I’m going to call Xabi and have him check in on you. Maybe you guys can come to the game later, yeah? Call me back when you get this.”

* * *

 

The fort was one of the most incredible things either of them had ever constructed within their respective lifetimes. Cushions had been pulled from every single one of Cristiano’s couches, mattresses had been dragged out of every bedroom of the house, and Cristiano’s closet full of extra sheets and blankets was no longer full as its contents had been emptied onto the floor of his family room. Even the pool chairs and swings outside had been stripped bare of their respective fabrics all in the name of the fort. Both of the men of the fort were smiling in satisfaction at the center of the structure, one complimenting the other on the idea of using a ceiling fan to hitch up a sheet, the other returning the compliment while emphasizing the solidarity of their walls... It wasn’t long after that that the one's feelings of youth subsided, surrendered to his need for comfort, his need to remember what was, as the other's youth-like curiosity and sense of wonder started to get the better of him.

Cristiano was laughing – at himself, at his life, at Xabi, at anything and everything – when Xabi grabbed his wrist and rolled the younger man on top of him. For a moment, Cristiano just sat there, legs on either side of the Basque man, staring into the eyes of the defensive mid as unvoiced questions hung between the two of them. Unnecessary questions as the answers were mutual and shared, already understood and already accepted. He felt Xabi’s hand fall on the back of his neck, felt the older man gently applying pressure and he easily gave into it. For the third time that evening, lips found lips and hands found muscle… There was no passion in the exchange, just a youthful need to know what it would be like with this person for one, a need to remember how it would feel for the other. He felt the Spaniard’s hand venturing further down, down, down until it had traveled far enough down to send his thoughts crashing into one another, far enough down to render him speechless unless whimpers and breathy inaudibles were considered an acceptable form of communication.

“Cris. Can I…?” Xabi asked, voice raspy and rushed as Cristiano’s physical response to his touch pressed into him. “I just… I just need to know. I need to remember what it is about this that, that…”

“I know what this is, Xabi.” Cristiano replied with a voice as light as his head seemed to be. He pressed his lips firmly against Xabi’s collarbone and smiled reassuringly just before he rolled off of him, lying on his back. He felt childishly mischievous as he slowly slipped out of his sweats. “I hope this is enough to figure out whatever you need to figure out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sergio calls his journal Fer because he has a difficult time expressing himself to Fernando since C.2 and C.8 of Break Me so his journal is his way of doing so. Getting it out of him, seeing it, determining if the things he's telling "Fer" are real.


End file.
